Chapter 21: A Monster's Grip
The robotic voice of the testing machine echoed across the dirt track.
"Runners, to your marks."
The fifty-meter dash was the first true test of mobility. Tenya Iida had just blasted through his lane using the engines in his calves, clocking in at an impressive 3.04 seconds.
Now, it was time for the second heat.
Katsuki Bakugo stepped up to the starting line. He was practically vibrating with rage, small sparks popping aggressively from his clenched fists. He glanced to his left.
Zoro walked up to his lane. He didn't drop into a standard runner's block. He simply stood there, lowering his center of gravity slightly, his hands resting naturally on his three swords.
"You got a lucky throw with that ball," Bakugo hissed, his red eyes filled with a toxic mix of anger and damaged pride. "But out here, raw lifting power means absolutely nothing if you're too heavy to move. You can't fly, extra."
Zoro didn't look at him. He didn't even blink.
"Shut up and run," Zoro muttered, his voice completely flat.
Bakugo's jaw clenched.
BANG.
The starting pistol fired.
"Blast Rush Turbo!" Bakugo roared. He threw his hands backward, firing massive explosions from his palms. The force propelled him forward like a human missile, his feet barely touching the ground. He flew across the track, a violent smirk returning to his face.
Zoro didn't fly. He anchored his thick boots into the starting line and pushed. The sheer torque of his leg muscles cracked the ground beneath him. He launched forward with the speed of a predator closing in on its prey. He was fast—terrifyingly fast for a normal human—but he was still running on foot.
BEEP.
"4.13 seconds," the machine announced for Bakugo.
BEEP.
"5.02 seconds," it announced for Zoro.
Bakugo hit the ground and skidded to a halt, a cloud of dust washing over him. He looked back at the scoreboard, letting out a loud, arrogant laugh.
"See?!" Bakugo yelled, pointing a smoking finger at the swordsman. "Five seconds! You're just a heavy rock! Muscle can't beat a real Quirk!"
Zoro walked past the finish line, completely unfazed. He didn't look angry or disappointed. He casually adjusted the green haramaki around his waist.
"I'm a swordsman, not a track runner," Zoro grunted indifferently. "Keep your little race."
Bakugo's smirk twitched. He won, but Zoro's total lack of care made the victory feel incredibly hollow.
"Next up, grip strength," Aizawa announced, marking his clipboard.
The class gathered around a set of digital testing devices. A moment later, a high-pitched beep echoed through the group.
"Five hundred and forty kilos?!" Hanta Sero yelled, staring at Mezo Shoji's massive, multi-armed form. "What are you, a gorilla?!"
Bakugo squeezed his own tester. 86 kg. A solid, high-tier score. He crossed his arms, waiting to see what the green-haired freak would do.
Zoro picked up a testing device. It felt small and fragile in his calloused hand. He didn't use a Quirk. He just thought about the brutal, bone-crushing training sessions at the dojo, carrying boulders that weighed more than small cars, swinging solid steel until his hands bled.
He tightened his fingers.
CRACK.
The digital screen glitched violently, flashing 999 kg for a split second before the thick plastic casing completely shattered. Small springs, wires, and broken metal pieces fell from his hand into the dirt.
Zoro clicked his tongue in annoyance, dropping the remaining piece of the handle.
"Cheap junk," he muttered.
Aizawa didn't yell at him for destroying school property. The tired teacher simply marked another score on his clipboard and moved on.
The rest of the class stood frozen in absolute terror.
"He... he broke it," Denki Kaminari whispered, his face pale.
"I'm telling you, it's just raw muscle!" Eijiro Kirishima cheered, slamming his fists together. "The guy is a walking tank!"
Bakugo stared at the broken pieces of metal in the dirt. His heart pounded in his chest. Nine hundred and ninety-nine... he maxed it out before it broke. The momentary pride from the foot race evaporated instantly.
The physical tests continued at a rapid pace. Zoro dominated the standing long jump, clearing the sandbox completely with a single, explosive leap. During the seated toe-touch, he displayed the terrifying flexibility required of a master swordsman.
However, during the repeated side steps, a short boy with purple balls on his head—Mineta—took first place by bouncing rapidly between his own sticky spheres. Zoro watched the short kid bouncing like a rubber ball, his expression twisting into pure disgust.
What a circus, Zoro thought, turning away.
But as the class moved back to the dirt field to finish the softball throw for the remaining students, Zoro noticed something else.
Izuku Midoriya.
The nervous, green-haired kid had placed dead last in almost every single test. He looked like he was about to pass out from pure anxiety as he walked up to the white circle. The kid had no physical foundation. His stance was weak. His breathing was erratic.
He's weak, Zoro analyzed, narrowing his sharp eyes. But...
Zoro's warrior instincts suddenly flared. The air around Midoriya felt different. There was a heavy, suffocating pressure hiding deep inside that fragile body. A ridiculous amount of raw power, sleeping just beneath the surface.
Midoriya grabbed the baseball. He pulled his arm back. Suddenly, glowing, red, vein-like lines erupted across his skin.
Zoro leaned forward, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of the Wado Ichimonji.
Let's see what you've got, kid.
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